


Take Better Care of Your Deputy

by finefeatheredfriend



Series: Why Can't We Be Friends? (AKA Wholesome Shorts) [5]
Category: Far Cry, Far Cry 5
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend





	Take Better Care of Your Deputy

“You know, by all rights I should be killing you right now, pup,” the gigantic ginger told the small but muscular young woman in his arms. She groaned, her head lolling to the side.

“Well, then why don’t you?” asked a slightly nasally, sarcastic voice in a posh cadence.

“John.” It was a warning and an order in one. John scoffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “For one thing, you know as well as I do Joseph doesn’t want this one dead,” he said softly, looking down at the injured woman that he was princess-carrying toward a nearby cabin. “And for another, little brother,” he continued, his gravelly voice taking on a decidedly dangerous tone, like a wolf growling, “it’s poor sportsmanship.” The deputy coughed mightily, expelling water down the front of Jacob’s shirt.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. It’s hardly our fault that this moron nearly got herself killed trying to break one of those daredevil records to boost their friends’ morale,” John objected, stepping farther away from Jacob with a look of disgust at the deputy. Jacob silenced him with a chilling look.

“She’s strong. She just needs to be trained. You don’t kick a puppy for chewing up a shoe, John.”

“ _YOU_ might not. I’d skin a puppy alive for destroying any of my shoes, especially my Louis Vuitton’s.” Jacob shook his head and gently deposited the quietly murmuring deputy onto a small cot in the far corner of the dilapidated hunting cabin. Her eyes flickered open and she jumped a little when she looked at his face and recognized him, fear overcoming her features. She was badly injured from her little stunt, having crashed a flaming four-wheeler into a deep gully. It was fortunate for the daring, foolhardy deputy that the gully was full of water from the spring snow melt. Jacob had drug her from the vernal pond just a few minutes before, his brother objecting heavily.

John was only here to spend some quality time with him and he was already pissed that Jacob’s idea of quality time was a hike in the Whitetail mountains. Jacob’s little brother was wearing a borrowed pair of hiking boots (because, of course, even after moving to Montana the little shit had refused to buy any of his own) and had paired them with some no-doubt overpriced jeans with metal studs across the back pockets and a designer fishing shirt. Jacob hadn’t even known that designer fishing shirts were a thing until John started bragging about this one. Wasteful. Whatever. It made John happy.

The Junior Deputy – Rook – Jacob recalled her last name, was huddled toward the head of the cot, curling in on herself in fear, her whole body shaking violently. She seemed to realize she was both outgunned and outnumbered, her injuries aside.

“Please…don’t hurt me,” she slurred out, holding up a hand to defend herself. The effect was somewhat lessened by the fact that three of her fingers are broken, bent at awkward angles. He knew that ordinarily this stubborn, wrathful deputy would have told him to go fuck himself instead of asking not be hurt, but head injuries were a hell of a thing.

“Easy, pup. We’ll consider this neutral ground.”

“You realize, do you not,” John began, each of his words clipped out angrily, “that this _bitch_ stole my fucking house from me? That she blew up my property? Oh, the things I will do to her before she’s dead,” he murmured, moving in close until Jacob put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Joseph’s got a plan for her. Leave her be.” John stepped back with a glare at Jacob.

“Well, I hope the plan involves a shower because she fucking reeks. Ugh. What is that? Dog? Skunk?”

“Both,” Jacob answered with a little smirk.

“From the look on your face, I’d think you’ve got yourself a crush on the deputy, Jakey-boy.” Jacob looked over his shoulder at John in half-amusement, half-irritation.

“Respect is not the same thing as affection.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think she plays for your team anyway, Cupcake,” John sneered at his brother.

“Good, that means you and her have something in common.” Jacob turned and tousled John’s perfectly coiffed hair before he could stop him or object.

“Very funny,” John snapped in a way that suggested that it was not at all funny. He approached the hunting cabin’s polished metal mirror and tried to fix his hair, his motions vicious and irritated.

“What are you going to do to me?” Rook tried and failed to sit up, eyeing them both warily, like a cornered animal, which, strictly speaking, was precisely what she was.

“Well, for starters, I’m going to re-set those fingers. You’re no good to anybody if you can’t shoot a gun or draw a bow.” Rook frowned. That was obviously not what she had been expecting.

“And then?”

“And then I’ll call your people to come get you.” She tilted her chin up defiantly.

“They won’t fall for that trap, and neither will I.”

“Christ, Jacob, if you’re not going to kill her just leave her here,” John griped, arms folded over his chest. Rook’s gaze took him in flatly, no appreciation in her look at all. Jacob found himself amused by the obvious fact that John was insulted she wasn’t eye fucking him like most women did. Jacob sat on the end of the cot and in response, Rook tried again to sit up and this time succeeded, hugging her knees close to her chest. He could see she was in serious pain. There were burns mottling her arms, and there were those askew fingers jutting awfully from her half-clenched fist. Quite certainly she had a concussion, given the uneven size of her pupils in the dull light streaming in the shattered cabin window.

Reaching out a massive paw of a hand, Jacob took her arm, holding it firmly even when she struggled.

“No sense hurting yourself worse, pup,” he told her, meeting her frightened but still stubborn gaze. She was braver than Peaches, that was for damn sure. Normally she would have asked about Pratt by now, would have made demands she was in no way prepared to enforce, but in her concussed state, it appeared that Pratt was not on her mind. “Here.” Without question, Rook accepted his belt and placed it between her teeth. “Good girl,” he murmured. She spat the belt out abruptly, face going red and then white in anger.

“I am not a dog,” she snapped.

“Prior interactions prove otherwise…bitch,” John taunted from where he leaned daintily against the filthy cabin walls, looking as though the dust had been put there intentionally to insult him. Rook met his eyes coldly and Jacob tightened his grip on her arm, could tell she was about to start a fight that she would not be able to win, which said a lot about her state of injury given what a terrible hand-to-hand fighter John was. Matter-of-factly, Jacob tapped her on the chin.

“I assume you want to keep those pretty teeth of yours.” Rook slid her gaze back to him from John and huffed out a sigh before sticking Jacob’s belt back between her teeth and biting down. A shriek bubbled up and out of Rook when Jacob snapped the first of her broken fingers back into place, but when he met her eyes she swallowed the cry, ended it as abruptly as though she was turning off a radio. He grinned. “I like you,” he told her. She didn’t have to vocalize what she thought of him – he could see it in her hateful glare. He held her gaze as he popped the next one back in place, but she barely flinched. The third one produced almost no reaction.

Good.

She was strong.

Exactly what he needed. “You’re lucky I keep a medkit in my bag,” Jacob said conversationally. Those who didn’t know him well thought him quiet, brooding. Really, though, he relished the opportunity to talk to those he respected, enjoyed recounting stories to people he admired. He admired Rook. Nothing was said in response to his comment. He splinted her fingers and then taped them together firmly, making sure to leave room for circulation. “I broke my fingers once. Closed ‘em in a car door.” Again, Rook said nothing, just stared balefully at him. He gave a facial shrug and continued. “I was lucky it happened to my left hand. As for burns, well…” He let the sentence end abruptly. Again, no response. Ignoring her silence, Jacob cleaned and applied antiseptic to her burns, bandaging them with expert fingers, talking the whole time, commenting on her work, asking her an occasional question, which was also ignored. He gave up trying to get her to speak to him and instead kept tending to her injuries while John fiddled with something behind them, giving little impatient sighs periodically.

Jacob could see that there was a blistered, bubbled burn that extended from the deputy’s shoulder down her side, under her top and onto her right breast. He knew what that had to feel like. Throbbing, stinging agony. Gently, he pushed her uniform top aside, and then her tank top sleeve and bra strap. He meant nothing sexual by the actions, but he was clearly making her uncomfortable. Rook was trembling, her eyes mistrustful and scared again.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me anymore.” Jacob removed his hand wordlessly, but handed her a tube of ointment and some bandages.

“Suit yourself. But you need to get those cleaned and bandaged as soon as you can. Trust me.” He tipped the scarred side of his head toward her subtly. Her face told him she got the message loud and clear. Jacob turned back to his brother. “Hand me the radio,” he purred.

“Are you serious, Jacob? Just fucking leave her here, she’s fine.”

“She’s clearly concussed and leaving her here would be…”

“Yeah, yeah, poor sportsmanship, whatever,” John cut him off, rolling his crystal blue eyes.

“You didn’t learn anything from what Joseph told you, did you, brother?” Jacob kept his gaze steadily, challenging him. John deflated as though he were a balloon that had encountered a cactus. Jacob saw his little brother’s jaw clench. John handed him the radio stiffly and stepped outside, clearly furious. Jacob sighed. John’s anger was a weakness he must learn to control if he was to survive after the Collapse.

Jacob keyed the mic button on the radio after switching it to one of the Resistance stations.

“This is Jacob Seed calling to see if Whitehorse has his ears on or if he’s off fishing somewhere,” he drawled in a dry tone. There was a moment of silence, and then a chirp of static, and then another before the sheriff spoke, almost as though he had fumbled the radio and had to hit the mic button twice.

“ _This is Whitehorse,_ ” comes his low, gravelly voice. It sounded tense, irritated.

“I don’t suppose you’re up to a road trip, Sheriff?” Jacob asked casually, a little smirk on his face as he watched Rook shift uncomfortably at the glib way he was talking to her sheriff.

“ _What do you want, Seed?_ ” The sheriff’s voice is tired and his tone is suspicious. Couldn’t blame him. Whitehorse was not a stupid man, but he was far too much of a pacifist to make a very good police officer.

“Me? I don’t want anything from you, for the moment, but I have something _you_ want. I found a Rook with a broken wing.” Jacob smirked at his charge.

“ _Listen here, you son-of-a-bitch_ ,” Whitehorse ground out over the radio.

“No, Sheriff, you listen,” Jacob stopped whatever tirade Whitehorse had been about to unleash. “I’ve just finished patching up your deputy. She’s alright, but she’s got a concussion. I’m doing you a favor and letting you have her back, but only you. No one else.” There’s a long pause.

“ _I’ll be there in two hours_ ,” Whitehorse rumbled, his tone clearly concerned. Jacob could hear protest in the background before Whitehorse’s audio cut off.

John left only an hour into Jacob’s wait, insisting he had something to attend to in the Holland Valley. The truth was, he was bored. Unlike Jacob, he was not content to just sit and wait and enjoy the sounds of nature. An unnatural sound finally cut into the forest and Jacob heard a soft knock on the door. He opened it only to find the barrel of Sheriff Whitehorse’s .44. Magnum L in his face. Jacob scoffed, unfazed.

“Put the gun away, Sheriff, or this doesn’t end well for any of us.”

“I have a feeling it won’t anyway,” Whitehorse muttered, lowering his weapon but not holstering it. “Where is she?”

“Inside. Gun. Put it away.” Whitehorse gritted his teeth, but obeyed. Stepping inside, he rushed over to his deputy, putting a hand on her shoulder, making her cry out in pain. He jerked his hand away like he had been shocked.

“You okay, Rook?” Whitehorse asked, his eyes earnest and worried.

“I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.”

“Alright. Get in my truck, Rook. I need to have words with Jacob.”

“Sheriff...”

“Go get in the goddamn truck, Rook,” Whitehorse ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. She looked a little taken aback for a moment, glanced from her boss to Jacob and back again before she finally stumbled through the door, a little wobbly, but obviously able to get herself to the truck. Whitehorse waited until he heard his truck door slam and then he turned to Jacob with a rough snarl. “What did you do to her?” Jacob studied Whitehorse mildly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I saved her from drowning, patched her up, reset some broken fingers, cleaned and dressed some burns. She’s got more burns that need bandaging, but she wouldn’t let me help her there. Nearly got herself killed doing some stunt.” Whitehorse closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, clearly aggravated at his deputy’s carelessness.

“You stay away from my deputy, Seed,” the Sheriff ordered, stepping forward until they were nearly toe-to-toe, Whitehorse’s nose at Jacob’s chin. Jacob laughed in his face and he could tell it pissed the older man off something awful. Watching Whitehorse’s jaw tick, Jacob waited for a blow that ultimately did not come. Always the pacifist, Whitehorse. Jacob tilted his head to the side.

“ _Your_ deputy? Huh. It seems to me you don’t take very good care of your things, Sheriff. Maybe I should take her from you permanently.”

“If you’re trying to start a fight with me, boy, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Whitehorse told him lowly, but Jacob could tell that his comment had unsettled him. Whitehorse stalked away. Jacob waited until the older man was just about to close the cabin door behind him before he called after him.

“Sheriff. Take better care of your deputy. Or I will.”


End file.
